


Too Much to Pay

by mssrj_335



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Abuse, Angst, Feelings, M/M, bad use of poetry, feelings of worthlessness, grace healing, i can't write sam without angst, some cheesy writing, spnrareshipcc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-09-25 17:34:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9834953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mssrj_335/pseuds/mssrj_335
Summary: SPN Rare Ship CC: Round 7Written for the prompt: "Hate is not a strong enough word."Sam on Unattached Drifter Christmas





	

**Author's Note:**

> self-edited, sorry bout that

 

Sam had never been more desperate for a distraction.  A hunt, a fight, _anything_.  The bunker’s library was quiet, except for the occasional turning of a page in his favorite book of Robert Frost.  Alcohol saturated his skin, making every motion drag like molasses.  He was ruminating, drinking something strong and dangerously unidentified from a decanter.  Every damn year, a dark stain of selfishness and guilt grew a little wider, a little deeper.  

 

Unattached Drifter Christmas.  

 

Dean filled the hole in his chest with people, as much as he denied it.  And Sam tried to keep his from filling with want: for the relationships he’d had, for the ones he wanted to have…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 _Cas_.  

 

He was trying to keep himself from thinking about Cas.  Since the angel had yanked him out of Hell, Sam could feel the hot touch of phantom fingertips in his skin when Cas was near.  It was nights like tonight that brought back the cleansing burn of Castiel’s Grace in their flight, tangled in the atoms of Sam’s soulless shell.  It was nights like tonight that reminded him how the angel touched his soul when it burned with memories of Hell.  He made him feel whole.  It reminded him how Cas broke and bled and died for him. 

 

For them.  For the Winchesters.

 

Sam pursed his lips minutely and took a long drink, grimacing as it left an acrid taste on his tongue.  He stared at the pages again.  It wasn’t _fair_.  Rarely did Sam let himself go so far as to even think about it being fair, but this whole _family business_ schtick could suck a fat one.  How many other men his age would ever have to fight the forces of Heaven and Hell?  Every chance at redemption was a double-edged knife that cut at both his soul and his sins.  

 

Sam could feel himself tattering around the edges.  In the moment of weakness, loneliness gripped him.  Quickly, he blinked and looked down.  The page caught him.  

 

_A voice said, Look me in the stars_

_And tell me truly, men of earth,_

_If all the soul-and-body scars_

_Were not too much to pay for birth…_

 

Sam sighed and laid his head back against the plush leather of the seat.  Perhaps poetry wasn’t the best thing to read on a day like today.  

 

_Tell me truly, men of earth,_

 

_Tell me truly_

 

_Look me in the stars and tell me truly_

 

The verses echoed in his head, a swirl of color as the alcohol swam in his head.

 

_Soul-and-body scars_

_Were not too much to pay…_

 

Sam snapped the book closed.  He stumbled to his feet and shoved it back onto the shelf, as though he could shove the words themselves away.  

 

He staggered out into the chilly evening air.  The words followed as entities their own, chanting in a gruff angelic voice through the quiet of the night.

 

_Tell me truly, men of earth,_

_Were it not too much to pay for birth…_

 

He’d definitely had more to drink than he’d intended.  The stars shone bright and appeared to swim, though perhaps it was the hateful tears pricking his eyes and not the alcohol.  Well-known suffocating feelings nipped at his heels: worthlessness, hopelessness, longing…  He wobbled to the ground.  His throat felt tight.  It all felt so empty.  Pointless.  Redemption always beyond his reach; worth only the weight he could carry.

 

A fluttering rush of wings whispered softly on the night air but it failed to cut through the torpor gripping his limbs.

 

“ _Sam…_ ” 

 

Sam’s head lolled toward the sound but he refused to otherwise acknowledge the angel that called his name so tenderly.

 

Footsteps padded soft over pine needles toward him.  “Sam?”  A firm hand gripped his shoulder.

 

Sam flopped back against the angel’s knees, closing his eyes against hot tears.  

 

“It’s alright, Sam,” Cas said softly.  “You have earned your birth a thousand times over.”

 

Sam cleared his throat.  In a tight voice, he said, “Get outta my head, Cas.”

 

Sam could feel the angel’s presence, just barely.  A shade hovering in the back of his consciousness, gentle as a lover, sifting through those selfish thoughts.  

 

“Humankind owes you their gratitude.  I…owe you my gratitude.”  A pause.  Sam couldn’t breathe.  “I don’t think I realized just how much I…owe you.”

 

Sam only shook his head.  _You don’t owe me,_ he wanted to say.  _You don’t—_

 

The angel sank to his knees, letting Sam’s pliable body rest against his chest.  

 

“You _fell_ ,” Sam croaked.  “You _rebelled_.  Because you believed in us—” _In me_. “—and we failed you.”

 

“Please,” Cas murmured bitterly.  “Don’t do this.  I hate that you feel this…anguish.  I hate that you feel you must prove yourself again and again when you have done so much.”

 

Through the fog of alcohol, Sam registered one word in particular.  “Hate?”  He ached for Castiel’s arms to raise and wrap around him; comfort him like his words.

 

Castiel huffed gently.  “ **Hate is not a strong enough word**.”  

 

For a moment, there was only the quiet of the night.  Then Cas answered Sam’s silent entreaty.  Tenderly, he fit his arms around Sam’s chest and pulled him close.  The gentle burn of Castiel’s Grace thrummed against his back.

 

“Let me help you tonight, Sam,” Castiel pleaded.  

 

Sam hesitated for only an instant.  As he nodded, he felt the foreign sensation of _moving_.  He opened his eyes.  

 

To his surprise, they hadn’t left the woods outside the bunker.  The evening stars still twinkled overhead.  Cas knelt in front of him now, hands resting on Sam’s thighs.  

 

What _moved_ were the hot, sticky feelings that followed him from the library.  Sam took a sharp breath.  Gone was the heavy fog of alcohol.  The feelings of worthlessness and hopelessness were still there, as they always were, but they felt…diminished.  Beaten back and tucked away for the time being.  

 

Sam felt like he could breathe, like he could _be_.  It was _wonderful_.  

 

Castiel smiled softly and raised a hand to Sam’s face.  Sam hitched a breath when the angel’s calloused fingers threaded through his hair and a thumb stroked his cheek.

 

“I fell, yes,” Cas said softly, pulling Sam inexorably closer.  “I rebelled.  Yes.  But…”

 

He paused before inspiration threaded into his mind.  He needed something Sam would understand.  Not something overt but something meaningful.  Low and clear, he recited:

 

“ _I shall be telling this with a sigh_

_Somewhere ages and ages hence:_

_Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,_

_I took the one less traveled by,_

_And that has made all the difference_ …” 

 

Sam stared at Cas, starstruck, before the angel finally closed the distance between them and pressed their lips together.  

 

Maybe he wouldn’t ever be free of the guilt that stained his soul, but if ever Sam could find redemption, it would be here.  Wrapped in an angel’s arms, pouring his heart into the touch of his lips.


End file.
